After a Battle

From the edge of the cliff I saw them, each asleep,
And wondered how our fathers could bear to lay so close.
First, the moon-glint of goodness on the heaps, then
Love made among them, running crooked from their mouths.

Closer, I could almost place from which wounds their souls escaped.
The mantis sent for a boy, younger than me,
And he dragged his pet goat up the slope, hungry for sacrifice.
But the blood ran black and wild around us.

We stripped the loose bronze from the stiff leather.
There, in the thrush, one last animal
Beckons buck and belt. I hold you here to watch among us
Hammer the plates of the dead flat, shape them the rough shapes

Of who we'll be when the goat gives calmly.



Read the original: April 6, 2005